


hold me lover (so tight i'd bruise you)

by dapperyklutz



Series: Give Geralt Love [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Bottom!Geralt, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Jaskier spoils themselves in the best of ways, Kissing, M/M, Our boys love each other so much, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, This whole fic happens in one place, Timeline What Timeline, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, top!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperyklutz/pseuds/dapperyklutz
Summary: They get stuck in a village on the outskirts of Yspaden due to a storm.Jaskier thinks it’s the perfect excuse to stay in bed the whole day, regardless of the fact that Geralt insists they brave the weather outside if they want to reach Kaer Morhen before the trail becomes impassable.It’s not even dawn yet, the harsh winds rattling the closed windows as rain continues to pour relentlessly. The sounds of thunder rumbling and lightning crackling in the distance breaks the quiet intermittently.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Give Geralt Love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859470
Comments: 46
Kudos: 426
Collections: Geralt Fluff Week 2020





	hold me lover (so tight i'd bruise you)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 Prompt: Cuddling/Hugs
> 
> Guys, this is the softest, fluffiest, and most tender story I've ever written. This is basically self-indulgent. I had a great time writing this fic, and it's honestly my favorite for this prompt week. You may want to cuddle in bed as well before you read this.
> 
> But wait! Before you begin, I'd like to recommend something to heighten the experience of reading this. Go listen to [THIS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmH4W8JOifg) with your earphones, then set the volume to low and let yourself be transported somewhere comforting and warm and cuddly. Please enjoy.
> 
> Title is from The Amazing Devil's _Wild Blue Yonder_.

They get stuck in a village on the outskirts of Yspaden due to a storm.

Jaskier thinks it’s the perfect excuse to stay in bed the whole day, regardless of the fact that Geralt insists they brave the weather outside if they want to reach Kaer Morhen before the trail becomes impassable.

It’s not even dawn yet, the harsh winds rattling the closed windows as rain continues to pour relentlessly. The sounds of thunder rumbling and lightning crackling in the distance breaks the quiet intermittently.

Jaskier has never told anyone this, but much as he complains about the wet and the cold when he travels with Geralt, he absolutely _loves_ this kind of weather. He loves being curled up in bed with his pillows and blankets, warm from the fire roaring at the hearth while the world outside rages and wails.

“Geralt, if we step outside this inn,” Jaskier proclaims with his arms spread wide. “Not only will I be soaked to the bone, and not only will poor Roach be miserable, but my precious lute will not survive. I _will_ die of hypothermia before we make it one mile!”

He knows it’s an exaggeration, but Jaskier is putting his foot down, godsdamn it. There’s no fucking way he’s going to step out of this room and leave the village just because Geralt wants to make an early head start for the crumbling keep.

Jaskier fixes a pointed look at Geralt, hands on his hips as he stays rooted in his position on the bed. He’s kneeling on the surprisingly firm mattress, clad in only his smallclothes and one of his threadbare chemises, laces unfastened and giving the man before him a considerable view of his chest hair.

Geralt meets Jaskier’s stare with a scowl for several moments before he looks away with a long-suffering sigh. He knows he’s won the argument, and so Jaskier internally cheers when he sees his dear witcher toe off his muddy boots, kicking them into a corner of the spacious room they’ve rented.

“Fine,” Geralt grumbles, and Jaskier sits back to enjoy the view of this massive, gorgeous man take off his clothes until he’s left in his smallclothes.

It’s never too early to be horny, but Jaskier thinks sleeping in close contact with Geralt with a boner is not ideal. So he pushes all sexy thoughts of his witcher out of the window, for now at least, and scoots back to his side as Geralt joins him in the wide bed.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Jaskier declares, pleased with himself as he wraps himself once more in the duvet.

“If the storm passes later today, then we leave,” Geralt shoots back as he gets comfortable on his back.

Jaskier snorts.

“Didn’t you hear what the innkeeper said last night? It could take at least two days for the storm to pass.” He snuggles deeper into the bed with a purr of contentment, not noticing the contemplative look Geralt aims his way. “We’ll be here until tomorrow, at least. Face it, my dear witcher, it’s officially cuddle weather and I will ensure that you enjoy it.”

“Fuck off and go back to sleep.”

Geralt’s disgruntled snort is the last thing Jaskier hears before he drifts off to dreamland.

~

The room is bathed in a warm glow from the low fire still crackling at the hearth when Jaskier next opens his eyes. He’s not sure what woke him up, but since he’s facing the wall he lifts his head to catch a glimpse of the sealed window. There’s a sliver of light that’s managed to permeate through a small gap on the rusty hinge, and Jaskier discerns that dawn’s just breaking, so he’s only been asleep for a little over an hour.

Despite the morning light, the storm still rages on outside. The winds are howling as it continues to rain, and yet the sounds seem to soothe Jaskier further.

Suddenly, there’s a loud clap of thunder followed by a crack of lightning. Instead of flinching, Jaskier finds himself humming and burrowing further in the warm cocoon he’s wrapped himself in. He’s about to drift off when he hears a snort behind him.

Carefully turning on his back, Jaskier peers at Geralt’s sleeping form. The witcher is still lying on his back above the bedcovers, one arm curled under his head while his other hand lays limp on his stomach, the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of his smallclothes. Jaskier’s sleep-crusted eyes drift from the chiseled body he aches to touch and kiss, and up to Geralt’s face, harsh lines soothed in his slumber.

Jaskier’s breath hitches when his eyes land on those luscious lips, soft and a bit chapped as Geralt softly snores, his massive chest rising and falling too slowly for a normal human’s. Jaskier’s fingers itch to touch the man next to him, an automatic response whenever he’s in close proximity with him.

Years on the road together caused them to grow accustomed to each other. Well, Jaskier is an incredibly tactile person so he had no problem on that front. Geralt, on the other hand, required more time and patience before he fully felt comfortable and trusting enough to accept Jaskier’s fleeting touches. He’s not as handsy as Jaskier is (he doubts no one ever will be), but Jaskier appreciates every physical display of affection Geralt has given him.

A pat on the shoulder, a hand curled around an elbow. There’s even the occasional hug every time they reunite on The Path.

Although affection has become easy between them since then, it doesn’t mean that Jaskier is blind to the underlying tension that’s grown over time. Jaskier is an observant man. And he can see that sometimes the glances linger longer than normal. A hand subtly brushes against his for no reason, or an arm slung over his torso at night clings possessively.

The thing is, Jaskier knows all this, and he knows Geralt must, too. But they have never addressed it. Who knows, maybe when they reach Kaer Morhen, they’ll sit down and talk about it. About them.

Nevertheless, unresolved sexual tension or no, it doesn’t stop Jaskier from turning on his side to face Geralt and quietly shuffling closer so as not to disturb the man. He lets out a sigh of contentment when he carefully rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder, his nose lightly grazing Geralt’s collarbone. Jaskier closes his eyes and breathes in the man’s musky scent before he brushes a light kiss on unwashed skin.

He succumbs to sleep soon after, unaware of golden eyes opening to look at him in wonder for a long time.

~

He feels his pillow shift before it starts to move from under him. Jaskier grumbles unintelligibly and he hears someone — _Geralt_ , his mind groggily supplies — snort in amusement.

“Jas, let me up,” Geralt says, his voice rough from sleep.

“No,” Jaskier whines.

The witcher sighs, exasperated and fond.

Jaskier makes a noise of protest and does the opposite of what Geralt wants. Instead, Jaskier drapes an arm over his torso and swings one leg to rest over the man’s sinewy thighs. Eyes still closed, Jaskier dips his head further until his face is buried in the crook of Geralt’s neck. He knows the latter can easily overpower him should he wish to, and through the sleepy haze Jaskier lets out a purr of contentment when he hears Geralt sigh once more before relaxing in Jaskier’s embrace.

“Sleep, G’ralt,” he mumbles.

“I’m no longer sleepy,” is Geralt’s grumpy response. “I need to sharpen my swords.”

Jaskier grumbles under his breath, the fingers pressed to Geralt’s side lightly tracing circles in a soothing manner. The minutes pass, Jaskier continuing with his ministrations, when he feels Geralt melt further in his arms. Jaskier lets out another purr when he feels the man lean further, so he brushes a soft kiss on the pulse of Geralt’s throat.

He doesn’t notice Geralt stiffen in shock since he’s on the cusp of falling asleep again. 

“Stay,” Jaskier mutters against Geralt’s neck. “Want you here with me.”

There’s silence, save for the rumbling of thunder and the torrential downpour outside.

“Okay,” is Geralt’s quiet response, but Jaskier is fast asleep once more.

~

The next time Jaskier opens his eyes, it’s to find his face several inches away from Geralt’s. His lips tug into a pleased smile when he sees the witcher has fallen asleep once more. They’re both on their sides, one arm around each other’s waist and legs tangled together in the blankets below.

Jaskier notices that the fire has long died, the embers burning low at the hearth. Still, there is enough natural light filtering from the thin cracks of the sealed windows behind him that Jaskier can still see adequately. He guesses that it’s mid-morning now, or approaching midday, if the faint noises coming from downstairs is anything to go by.

His stomach rumbles in that moment, and Jaskier glances up in time to see a furrow between Geralt’s brows. Well, if he’s starving then that means Geralt must be ravenous. Jaskier decides then to get out of bed and get them breakfast. Or lunch. Whatever they’re serving at this time.

Slowly, he untangles his legs from the sleeping witcher’s, and carefully withdraws his arm that’s slung across Geralt’s back. Jaskier is about to get out of bed when he hears Geralt make a faint noise of protest.

Heart melting at the sight of the pout on that handsome face, Jaskier is helpless against the pull in his gut. Without a second thought, he moves back, only to brush the back of his hand on Geralt’s cheekbone.

“I’m going to get us food,” he whispers.

Jaskier tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear before he leans forward to press a gentle kiss on Geralt’s forehead. Deep affection blooms in his chest as he runs the pad of his thumb under one eye, and Jaskier gives in to kiss the small furrow between the witcher’s brows before he pulls back.

“Mmm,” Geralt hums low in his throat, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Jas…”

Jaskier doesn’t hide the grin that forms on his face as he quickly dresses and pulls on his muddied boots. He takes the heavy coin purse from his pack and walks to the door, slowly closing it shut behind him.

 _Yes, breakfast in bed sounds absolutely divine,_ Jaskier thinks as he makes his way downstairs. _Breakfast and then a bath after._

If he gets to spoil himself in this fine weather, then his witcher deserves to have the same treatment, if not more. Sure, they’re on their way to Kaer Morhen for the winter, but it doesn’t hurt to indulge oneself every now and then. Besides, Melitele knows Geralt needs it more than anyone in this Continent, after another harsh year on The Path. With a nod, Jaskier resolves to spoil his witcher rotten with the free time they have.

And if he gets to take pleasure from it too, then that’s for Jaskier to know.

~

“I ordered us a bath.”

They’re sat in front of each other in the small table in the corner of the room, much to Jaskier’s disappointment after briefly fantasising about him and Geralt eating with their backs pressed to the headboard. But Geralt’s judgmental look said otherwise when Jaskier casually suggested the idea, so the table it is.

Geralt glances up from his plate — scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, roasted potatoes and tomatoes — to look shrewdly at Jaskier.

“Stop wasting coin,” Geralt gruffly says.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “It’s not wasting if we _need_ it. Really, Geralt. I may not have your enhanced senses, but even I can smell our stench. Four days with no bath is _murder_ on my skin and hair.”

“Didn’t stop you from clinging to me like a leech,” Geralt points out with a smug smirk.

Jaskier opens his mouth to make a retort, but he closes it with a thoughtful hum. He spears a sausage with his fork and takes a bite, all the while his eyes never leave Geralt’s.

Okay, so that might’ve looked a tad suggestive. But whatever, it’s not like Geralt will make that connection, though the witcher’s eyes darkening _could_ be a trick of the light.

Jaskier swallows his food before he pushes the empty plate aside. His licks his lips, and his heart stutters when Geralt’s gaze tracks his mouth.

Perhaps he’s made that connection after all.

“Eat your food, Geralt,” Jaskier says quietly after he takes a swig of warm ale. “Before it gets cold.”

“Hmm.” Geralt arches a brow and tilts his head. He takes a bite of crispy bacon, chewing slowly for once, and waits until he’s swallowed his food before saying, just as quietly, “You can take from my plate if you’re still hungry.”

Jaskier’s tongue clicks on the roof of his mouth at the suggestive tone.

“I’m full, thank you, but perhaps later,” he replies, voice low and raspy to his ears. Jaskier clears his throat and ignores the butterflies in his stomach when he sees a flash of surprise in Geralt’s eyes. “Your bath is going to arrive soon.”

Geralt hums again, and this time Jaskier knows that the witcher’s lustful stare isn’t a trick of the light.

~

As promised, their bath arrives on time.

Geralt finishes his drink while Jaskier arranges the bottles of oil near the bathtub, along with a selection of soap he knows Geralt prefers, and a rag they use for scrubbing.

Geralt shucks off his smallclothes and Jaskier politely turns away to give the shameless man a semblance of privacy. He waits until Geralt has fully stepped into the bathtub before he turns back, the witcher hissing as he submerges his body into the boiling hot water.

Pushing the sleeves of his chemise up to his elbows, Jaskier pours a considerable amount of bath oil into the steaming tub. Next, he arranges the stool to his liking and then flops down on Geralt’s side that’s furthest from the fireplace.

“Which do you prefer, honey and oat or lavender?” Jaskier asks as he pushes the two bars of soaps into Geralt’s line of sight.

Geralt grunts and shoots him an annoyed look. Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Right, stupid question. Honey and oat it is.”

He deposits the lavender bar soap next to the bottle of oils, picks up the rag, and then gets to work.

Jaskier wets the rag first before lathering it with soap, setting it down on the edge of the tub afterwards. He starts on Geralt’s neck and shoulders, scrubbing away the grime and dirt accumulated on the road. After, Jaskier takes his wrist in one hand and lifts Geralt’s arm to scrub the man’s side and armpit. He also meticulously rubs the dirt from under Geralt’s nails before slowly cleaning his way up to the man’s bulging bicep.

Satisfied, Jaskier dunks the rag on the water once more and lathers it with the bar soap before he moves the stool to clean Geralt’s other side. Jaskier hums a tune under his breath as he continues to work on scrubbing his witcher clean. Geralt is leaned back against the tub, silent as always. His eyes are closed, and every now and then he grunts and hums in pleasure whenever Jaskier kneads his fingers into a sore spot.

He lathers the rag once more with soap before Jaskier leans a bit forward to scrub Geralt’s chest next. Jaskier gulps inaudibly at Geralt’s soft grunt when he drags the rag across the witcher’s pebbled nipples. He can feel Geralt’s heavy gaze on him but Jaskier does his best to look unaffected. Instead, he hums a little louder, hands skimming along Geralt’s sides as he drags the foamy rag down his torso to his abs, then abdomen, and —

_Oh, fuck._

Jaskier falters when he sees the unmistakable hardness poking from underneath the bubbly water. He swallows thick when he hears Geralt hum, the gorgeous bastard leaning further back and _spreading_ his legs further, _what the hell_.

Rather than address the obvious come on by the gorgeous witcher, Jaskier clears his throat and quickly wipes down Geralt’s legs without uttering a word, paying extra attention to scrubbing his feet and toes. Still, he can feel Geralt’s gaze on him, golden cat-like eyes silently tracking Jaskier’s movements like a predator hunting for its prey.

Instead of feeling nervous, Jaskier feels a thrill of anticipation in his gut, and it certainly doesn’t help that Geralt’s attention on him is causing a reaction downstairs. His growing interest is pressed against the tight confines of his smallclothes. From his position on the stool, legs spread wide against the bathtub, he knows that Geralt is also able to catch a glimpse of his erection.

Despite that, Geralt doesn’t say anything, so Jaskier doesn’t either.

“I’m going to wash your hair next,” Jaskier announces, and he winces at the raspiness in his voice.

He shifts the stool again so he’s sitting behind Geralt, who leans forward to dunk his head under the water while Jaskier plucks the chamomile oil from the side. He waits until Geralt is leaning back against the tub before he uncorks the bottle and tips a considerable amount of oil into his other hand. Jaskier then rubs the oil in his palms, warming them up before he brings them to Geralt’s tangled mess he calls hair.

Despite the tension in the air, the next twenty minutes pass by in companionable silence. Jaskier carefully untangles the knots in Geralt’s hair, and he ends up using a fine-tooth comb to straighten out the rest. When that’s done, Jaskier pours more oil into his hands before he sets to massage Geralt’s scalp and neck, his fingertips pressing on the witcher’s nape and temples.

Jaskier feels his chest bloom with satisfaction when he feels Geralt turn to putty in his hands, the tension from those broad shoulders loosening as he relaxes further in the tub. Geralt’s pleased hums shift to purrs of contentment, and Jaskier doesn’t bother to fight off the goofy smile on his face.

He briefly rubs well-oiled fingers on Geralt’s ears before moving to massage his temples and brows. Several minutes pass before Jaskier deems Geralt’s hair clean and he urges the witcher to dunk his head again to wash it off.

By the time Geralt steps out of the bathtub, the water is lukewarm. Jaskier tosses a towel at him and though Geralt wipes himself dry, he doesn’t bother to wrap the towel around his waist. There’s no point, to be honest, because Jaskier gets a front view of the witcher’s enormous cock, balls heavy and thick member bobbing against his rock-hard abs.

Jaskier breathes deep and forces himself to look away, only to meet Geralt’s smug expression.

“Like what you see?” Geralt asks, voice like gravel as he continues to stare at Jaskier with that smoldering gaze.

In lieu of a response, Jaskier stands up from the stool and takes off his remaining clothing. He steps out of his smallclothes, heat pooling low in his stomach when he sees Geralt’s Adam’s apple bob and golden eyes meander down to stare at his stiff cock. Jaskier arches a brow when Geralt looks up at him before he slowly gets into the bathtub.

Eventually, Jaskier looks away to dip his head under the water. When he emerges, he leans back with a delighted groan, only to pick up the discarded rag and start lathering it with the soap. From the corner of his eye, he can make out Geralt’s nude form stride towards their packs, where the witcher bends to get a clean pair of underclothes.

Jaskier turns his head to ogle at that magnificent arse, and he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he uses his free hand to lightly grasp his cock and stroke it a few times.

~

It’s no surprise that he ends up falling asleep in the tub. The time it took to bathe Geralt was no light task, and as much as Jaskier enjoys servicing the witcher, that simple task always exhausts him. The water has long gone cold when Geralt shakes him awake.

“Mm, wha’—?” Jaskier garbles as he jerks upright. He blinks a couple of times before he notices the warm hand on his shoulder. Jaskier follows said hand until his languorous eyes meets Geralt’s amused ones. “Geralt?”

“You fell asleep,” Geralt points out. “Get up, the water’s gone cold.”

Not needing to be told twice, Jaskier shakes his head before he gets up then gingerly steps out of the tub. He mumbles a word of thanks when Geralt hands him the second towel, and Jaskier quickly pats himself dry. He ambles over to their packs to retrieve a clean pair of smallclothes, and it isn’t until he dries his hair and tosses the damp towel over a chair to dry that he notices it’s quiet.

Jaskier turns and sees Geralt sitting at the foot of the bed, his silver sword in one hand and a whetstone in the other. But instead of working on sharpening his weapon, the witcher is staring at Jaskier with an unreadable look.

“What?” Jaskier asks with tilt of his head.

Geralt blinks and he shakes his head with a grunt before he turns his attention back to his task.

Jaskier stares for a moment longer before he shrugs and gets into bed. He doesn’t bother with a chemise this time, the room toasty warm thanks to the fire blazing at the hearth. Geralt must’ve added more wood while Jaskier was dozing off in the tub.

“Going to sleep again?” Geralt asks with a quick glance at him.

Dry, clean, and well-fed, Jaskier gets under the covers with a contented hum. Outside, the wind and rain start to pick up once more. Thunder continues to rumble like a disgruntled deity while lightning crackles occasionally.

It’s been a wonderful, lazy day so far and Jaskier is _loving_ every second of it.

“Going to sleep again,” Jaskier confirms with a yawn. He’s curled comfortably on his side, head nestled on the only pillow they have as he brings his hands close to his chest. “You should join me after.”

There’s silence after that, save for the crackling of the fire and the sound of the whetstone as Geralt drags it on the edge of the sword. Jaskier is on the cusp of sleep when Geralt hums, his low voice filtering through Jaskier’s sluggish senses:

“Later.”

~

He rouses from his slumber some time later. He peeks one eye open and guessing by the state of the fire, a few hours has passed.

Jaskier is still in the same position as he fell asleep in, but the difference between then and now is that this time, his head is pillowed on Geralt’s shoulder. And he notices three things.

The first is that Geralt has also gotten under the covers.

The second is that Jaskier has one arm slung protectively across the witcher’s bare chest.  
Third is that Geralt’s face is turned to Jaskier, so his lips and nose are pressed on the bard’s forehead. One large, warm palm is resting on top of Jaskier’s hand while Geralt’s other arm is wrapped around Jaskier’s bare back, thick fingers curled almost possessively on Jaskier’s hip.

Okay, so that’s five things.

Jaskier lets out a happy sigh, and he snuggles closer to Geralt. He buries his face in the crook of the witcher’s neck and lets his chest and hips press further against Geralt’s side, their legs tangled together under the sheets.

He hears Geralt huff a breath before he continues to snore softly. Jaskier releases another blissful sigh before he threads their fingers together on top of Geralt’s chest.

Jaskier dozes off again, this time with a tranquil smile on his face.

~

When consciousness pulls him back to the surface, Jaskier is surprised to know he’s the first to wake again.

He quietly observes Geralt for several minutes, noting how the witcher looks decades younger without the harsh lines that usually paint his face. With a soft exhale, Jaskier finally gives in to his yearning and untangles his fingers from Geralt’s to bring up a hand to the witcher’s face.

It takes a minute before he notices the subtle shift in Geralt’s breathing, his eyelids fluttering. Jaskier continues his ministrations and watches, enraptured, as Geralt wakes up in stages.

The slightly shabby covers tangled below their waists, Geralt’s heavy thigh shifts slightly between Jaskier’s legs.

Lute-calloused fingertips lightly trails the side of the witcher’s face. From Geralt’s forehead to the curve of his jaw. Jaskier’s thumb softly strokes the corner of his mouth. Under his eye. His cheekbone.

Then he shifts to tuck a few strands of silver-white hair over Geralt’s ear. He traces the curve of that ear with the pad of a fingertip, trailing down to caress the lobe. Geralt hums low in this throat, and Jaskier’s heart stutters.

When he sighs, his breath comes out unsteady.

Jaskier’s touches are innocent. Fleeting, yet delicate. As if Geralt is made of porcelain, meant to be handled with care and adoration. It’s like each stroke and caress lights up a path on Geralt’s skin, grounding him to the moment as Jaskier guides him back to the land of the living.

The moment stretches on, and then Geralt slowly opens his eyes. Jaskier is greeted to the sight of gorgeous golden eyes, warm like honey that’s gazing at him with such a tender expression it momentarily takes Jaskier’s breath away. Geralt blinks, and with slow, careful movements, the witcher lifts the arm he has slung over Jaskier to bring it up to the bard’s face.

Geralt frames his jaw, mirroring Jaskier’s hold on him as a calloused thumb lightly strokes his chin, and then up to his plump lower lip. Curious fingers trail along the bridge of Jaskier’s nose. He lightly traces Jaskier’s cheekbone before Geralt caresses the curve of his jaw.

Jaskier is more than aware that he’s gazing at Geralt like a besotted fool. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and his heart beats a little faster when Geralt returns it.

“Hi,” Jaskier whispers into the space that’s left between them.

“Hello,” Geralt murmurs back. He cups Jaskier’s jaw, thumb moving to trace the contours of Jaskier’s lips.

Jaskier stutters an exhale at the gesture, a distant part of him horrified when he feels pressure build behind his eyes.

“Why?” Geralt asks, voice rough with sleep.

_Why now? Why waste coin on me? Why do you treat me like I’m someone who’s worthy of love and kindness?_

Jaskier contemplates his answer for a beat longer.

“Because I want to. Because you deserve it.”

Geralt gulps but he doesn’t say anything. Jaskier peers closer and there’s a pang in his chest when he sees the doubt swirling in those golden eyes.

“You know I love you, right?” he rasps out quietly, a hint of desperation in his voice. In the years they’ve known each other, Jaskier was never subtle about his affections for Geralt. But he needs to be certain that his best friend _knows_ the depth of Jaskier’s feelings for him. If he makes that proverbial leap, there’s no going back for either of them. “You know that this isn’t a passing fancy or a one-night stand for me, right?”

“Jaskier…”

“Not only do you have all my words, but you also have my heart,” Jaskier continues. “And though I’ve given you the best years of my life, it’s imperative that you know, that you _understand_ , Geralt. I’m giving you the rest of it as well.”

“Jaskier…” There’s a stunned, almost broken look on Geralt’s face, his voice breaking halfway through uttering Jaskier’s name.

“I love you so much,” Jaskier whispers, and he’s never felt more courageous than in this moment. A traitorous tear escapes to land on the pillow beneath his head, and he blinks more away. “Do you love me, too?”

The silence stretches on until —

“Jaskier, you’re the only other person I want to walk The Path with,” is Geralt’s hushed response, his chest heaving with deep breaths as he stares at Jaskier. In wonder and fear. In unbridled joy. “Of course I love you, too.”

 _Oh, thank fuck_.

With a breathless laugh, Jaskier closes the remaining distance between them. He seals his lips over Geralt’s, the witcher letting out a surprised gasp before growling at the back of his throat. He returns Jaskier’s kiss with fervor, the hand on his face moving to leave a burning trail across his naked back before taking hold of one arse cheek. Jaskier retaliates by hooking his leg over Geralt’s hips, pressing their chests and hips together as he buries his fingers in Geralt’s silver-white hair.

They continue to kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

Jaskier gladly loses track of time. All his attention is focused on lavishing kisses, sucking bruises, tasting and exploring every crevice of this incredible, gorgeous, and glorious witcher.

 _His_ witcher.

~

They make love that night.

Jaskier opens up his witcher, taking his time to press and stretch inside the most private part of Geralt. The tips of his fingers stroke the little bundle of nerves that makes Geralt groan in pleasure, back arching and hips pushing back for more, more, _more_. Jaskier soothes his lover, murmuring praise at how well he’s taking his fingers, before giving Geralt what he needs.

What he wants.

What they have both been longing and yearning for.

When he deems Geralt ready, Jaskier slicks his cock with oil and then slowly enters his witcher. As he bottoms out, Geralt’s massive legs wrap tightly around Jaskier’s hips, and Jaskier leans over until their faces are a few centimeters apart. Fingers trail from Geralt’s hips, cock, and to his hairy chest, only for Jaskier to take his witcher’s hands and thread their fingers together to rest on either side of Geralt’s head.

As Jaskier begins to thrust long, deep strokes, he revels in Geralt’s breath hitching, his lover demanding for _more, harder, please, Jaskier_. And so he does, because who is Jaskier, a mere humble bard, to deny Geralt of Rivia’s sweet, desperate pleas?

He lives to serve one man, and that is the White Wolf.

Outside, the storm rages on. It will take another day before they can leave the village. Strong winds rattle the sealed windows next to them while peals of thunder echo in the distance. The pitter-patter of the rain remains persistent, the long, drawn-out sound drowning out the noises they’re making, including the steady thumping of the headboard hitting the wall.

While the heavens weep and howl, the world carries on.

But for Jaskier, his whole world can be found in a single bed, in the rented room of a village on the outskirts of Yspaden.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really proud of this story, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. 💙💛
> 
> Here's my [Tumblr](https://jaskierstark.tumblr.com) if you wanna say hi.


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